


Little People

by owlbsurfinbird



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, School Projects, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Isn't there something in Yeats about making leprechaun traps?"<br/>Hathaway shook his head slightly. "Not a single word."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little People

"Do you have any shoe boxes?"

Hathaway went around their desks, avoiding the growing stack of cardboard boxes on the floor. "One or two. May I ask why, sir?"

"I'm watching Jack this weekend—took the time off. Lyn and Tim are going to a hospital conference."

"Isn't he a bit big to sleep in a shoebox? Thought those were for leprechauns."

Lewis grinned and pointed. "See, I knew you'd know! Yeats, isn't it?"

Hathaway nodded, taking his seat. He seemed puzzled.

"Leprechaun traps."

"Sorry?"

"Leprechaun traps. Decorate a box or two, prop them up with a stick and when you see the leprechaun, you yank the stick and catch…"

Hathaway's eyes were huge. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Didn't you make leprechaun traps as a kid?"

"No."

"Isn't there something in Yeats about making leprechaun traps?"

Hathaway shook his head slightly. "Not a single word."

"Bloody hell." Lewis dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed his face. "No wonder she left it to me, then."

"Are you good at this sort of thing?"

"No." Lewis settled his elbows on his desk in disgust. "We never made traps for leprechauns. Didn't have time for foolishness like that when I was a kid. Don't remember Mark or Lyn doing it either. What are they teaching kids these days?"

"Do you need help?"

"With Yeats? Oh, yeah." Lewis dumped the contents of a box onto his desk and added the box to the stack. "Wish you knew how to make a trap, too."

"Maybe the world is rife with little people now because of the paucity of leprechaun traps." Hathaway regarded the boxes with a curious expression. "How many do you plan to catch?"

Lewis gave him a pained look. "School projects. Managed to beg off most of the time. Not the best with tape and staples. Or glue, for that matter. Thought we'd need extra, just in case." He nested the boxes he'd gathered, giving them a thump to compact them neatly on his desk. "So we're going to work on it over the weekend. Lyn said it was due on Monday. Said the kids would be setting them up on St. Patrick's Day, Tuesday." He glanced at his watch just as the phone rang. "That's them."

Hathaway was typing on his computer.

"Leave whatever that is, James, I've got to—oh, never mind." Lewis hurried down the corridor and out the building. Tim and Lyn were standing beside their car, putting Jack's little rucksack on his shoulders, untwisting the straps and murmuring reassurances.

 _Lad doesn't look like he wants to be here at all,_ Lewis thought. _Only been a few months, but it's like he forgets me every time._ He softened his sigh with a smile.

Jack gave him a quick, obligatory hug and stepped back.

"Sir," Hathaway bounded down the steps of the nick carrying what looked like the year end report, a huge sheaf of papers clutched in his fist. "I have that report you asked for."

"What? Not now, Hathaway."

"Sir? The leprechaun trap report?" Hathaway looked pointedly from one adult to the other and then settled on Jack. He dropped to a crouch in front of the boy. "I was told that you need plans for building the perfect leprechaun trap." He fanned the pages. "I have them right here."

Jack edged behind his mother and nodded slowly. "There are parts we have to have." His voice was shy.

"Right. Different leprechauns require different types of trap. What type of leprechaun do you want to catch?"

The boy shrugged, but came out from behind his mother.

Hathaway rose. He smiled slightly at Lyn and Tim, who beamed back at him, enjoying the playful attempt to engage their son. Then James tilted his head, looking directly and doubtfully, at Jack. "Do you even believe in leprechauns?"

The child nodded. "Mum says they come at night and eat our ice cream."

"Aye, they are very fond of ice cream," Lewis said, watching his sergeant. "Are you planning on helping us make this leprechaun trap?"

Hathaway held up the papers. "I've done the research, sir. Just need the specifications and we're on our way. We'll need a gun."

Jack's eyes were wide. "Wow."

"Hathaway!"

"A glue gun, sir. I understand that your experience with tape and staples might be inadequate to the task."

"Think my patience might be inadequate to the task," Lewis grumbled. "Do you have a glue gun, sergeant?"

Hathaway gave a nod, a smug smile curling the corner of his mouth. "In supplies, sir."

Lyn beamed. She leaned over her son. "You remember Mr. Hathaway, don't you, Jack? He helped grandpa make cookies with you last Christmas." She straightened. "I'm so glad you know what to do, James. Dad's rubbish at school projects."

"Oh, I'm fine," Lewis made a face. "May not come up to your high standards sometimes, but it'll do."

She snickered. "I still have pictures of the angel wings you made for the Christmas play the year grandma passed—you remember, don't you, Dad?" She turned to Hathaway. "Mum had gone to help out and our costumes weren't finished. Dad stapled rows of printer paper together to make these big floppy wings and taped them to the back of our costumes, so of course they fell off in the middle of the play and everyone was tripping over them."

"All right, so I owe you angel wings." Lewis sighed, and then smiled. "Sergeant Hathaway is a leprechaun expert. Might be a leprechaun himself. Knows Yeats and everything. I'll think we'll manage."

Lyn and Tim said their goodbyes. Jack watched the car until it turned the corner. He looked up. "Are we going to have one of your special dinners in a box, grandpa?"

"Oh, special dinner in a box! Sounds delightful," said Hathaway sarcastically.

"I like them," Jack said, loyally. "We had dinosaur nuggets last time and mashed peas."

"What did you have the rest of the time?"

"We had it the whole the time. It was cool."

"You're as bad as Lyn," groused Lewis. "All the basic food groups there—meat, bread, and veg."

"Yeah, and plenty of fat and salt." Hathaway flipped through the papers and jabbed a long finger in the center of a page. "As I thought. Jack, did you know that leprechauns like spaghetti for dinner?"

"They do? I like spaghetti, too."

"Good, because that is what we are having for dinner if that is all right with your grandpa."

They looked expectantly at Robbie, who rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his hand. "Guess that settles the question of space shaped nuggets or dinosaur nuggets. Are you cooking at mine?"

"I've been cooking all day—sauce in the slow cooker. I keep telling you, sir, nothing like a fresh cooked meal when you get home at night. We'll make the meatballs at yours so that Jack can help. You don't have the right equipment to make spaghetti noodles."

"Pot and water—what do you need, man?" He'd heard this before.

"A large pot, a colander, sea salt, a good olive oil—" Hathaway ticked off on one hand, the other still holding the sheaf of papers. "Salad. Leprechauns love greens."

"Especially spinach," Jack said knowledgeably.

Lewis rolled his eyes. "C'mon lad, let's get the boxes and leave Sergeant Hathaway to get the glue gun and—James? I've got bait for the trap." He mouthed "ice cream" and Hathaway smiled slightly.

+++

Robbie had to admit, it was always an immersive experience when James spent time with him and his grandson. When they made cookies last Christmas, they listened to sing-a-long carols and completely wrecked the kitchen with sprinkles and bits of icing. He was still finding nonpareils in February.

And now they were listening to a mix of Chieftains, Old Blind Dogs, Clancy Brothers—and those were just the ones he recognized. Variations on O'Carolan. Bit too much harp and not enough bodrhan, to his mind. Nothing like a good drumming to get a man's blood going.

He watched James rolling meatballs at the kitchen counter with his grandson. His sleeves were rolled up showing strong arms and hands and long fingers— _Ah, Christ._ Robbie felt the color rise in his cheeks and he grinned, embarrassed at his own foolishness. James Hathaway was fine to look at, but it would never happen. _Wish I had the courage to make a move, though._ He sighed.

He hadn't heard 'Jug o' Punch' since he was Jack's age.

He was humming as he got back to his task: cutting a door in the medium size box. They had a St. Patrick's Day Parade in Manchester and now there were even St. Patrick's Day activities in Ireland, he'd heard, but it seemed the biggest fuss--from green clothes to green beer--was made by people who were descendants of the Irish living in the US.

The materials from the teacher—on an exchange program from the States—said that parents should help with 'the build portion' but that the 'engineering concepts should be generated by the child.' Jack had drawn a design for his trap—it wasn't going to work. He had theorized that a single drinking straw would hold up the weight of the box in front. It was the kind of bone-head mistake that made Robbie wonder if Jack was getting enough time outdoors playing with things instead of spending time playing on the computer.

"Do we let him go to the trouble of making the thing and then making it again?" Robbie whispered. "Could take all weekend."

"Did you have other plans?" James said gently. "He seems to have rushed thinking it through."

Robbie picked up the box and the straw. "Jack. Let Mr. Hathaway finish up there and come take a look at this." He handed the boy the straw. "Feel how heavy this is." He handed the boy the box. "Now feel how heavy that box is. Now—"

Jack's eyes grew wide. "My trap won't work. I need a stick, not a straw."

"Good, lad. It's not a bad idea, but you have to pick the right materials." He handed the boy a box filled with odds and ends, pencils, string, paperclips, a golf ball.

The box had to drop down on the unsuspecting leprechaun in some way. Why the hell would you need a golf ball?

He held it up and looked questioningly at James, who was putting the meatballs in the oven.

"Leprechauns are notoriously clever and not easily distracted, they have exceptional focus and tenacity. But they can be tricked by sudden movement, such as a ball rolling past."

"All that's in Yeats?"

"Common lore," James replied, wiping his hands on a tea towel. "Jack, you didn't say what type of leprechaun you intend to catch."

Jack looked up from drawing his new design. "What types are there?"

"Oh, here we go—you know them all, right? Gaelic names and all the mythology, I bet." Robbie smiled slightly. The Irish music, dominated by drums moments ago, went to a soft harp.

James looked thoughtful. "Leprechauns, you know, used to wear red. Then there was a war." He sighed, as if remembering, and continued, tossing the salad and preparing dinner. "The 'trooping fairies' started wearing green to show their opposition. So, yes, there are different Gaelic names. But, basically, Jack, there are the leprechauns who have treasure—pots of gold hidden at the end of the rainbow. There are leprechauns who grant three wishes to the person who captures them. And there are rare leprechauns who have both gold and the ability to grant wishes."

Jack sat back, his legs swinging to kick the bottom of his chair. Kick, kick, kick. Robbie put his hand on the boy's knee, gave a gentle shake of his head. Jack huffed a sigh and started tapping his pencil.

"I probably wouldn't be able to catch a rare one, right? I think the one with three wishes, then, because I can wish for gold."

"Do you need gold?" James asked, seriously.

Jack shook his head. "I really don't need anything. I just want to catch one." He shrugged. "It would be cool to have a friend."

This was new. "You have friends, don't you lad?" Robbie asked.

Jack sighed, softly. "Josh moved. He was my best friend."

"My sweet bonny lad." Robbie stood up, clasped the boy's shoulder. "Hardest thing in the world when your best friend goes away. C'mon, let's eat and then we'll work on your trap some more." Robbie got up, went into the kitchen.

James came in, stood at his elbow, wordlessly laid his hand on Robbie's shoulder.

Robbie glanced at him. "Val would have been so proud of him. She'd know what to say, too. Always said the perfect thing. I wish…"

"What do you wish, Sir?"

"I wish you'd call me Robbie," said Robbie, with a sigh. "Let's eat so that we can have dessert."

+++

Jack stared at the contraption. The box with the door that Robbie had cut out had been discarded when Jack realized he didn't need a door if he was planning to drop the box. They had covered the box entirely with green paper. Big, decorative swirls of gold graced the sides, wrinkling the paper. "It needs more glitter, I think."

"Any more glitter on the box and it'll be to heavy for that stick." James said quietly.

"We can get a heavier stick." Jack looked at them both hopefully. "It's not too dark out yet to go to the park, is it? We could find a stick there."

Robbie rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his hand. Almost bedtime and they hadn't had dessert yet. He wanted to take Jack to the museum tomorrow--there was a special dinosaur film with the exhibit--and if they didn't finish this project, they wouldn't be able to go. He picked up the heavy brochure on the counter for the exhibit, just to check the hours again, and then rolled it into a tube to chuck it with the rubbish. There would be no way to make it to the show tomorrow if they had to work on this all morning. 

"Wait," James said. "Let's have a look." He took the tube from Robbie and placed it alongside the stick. As soon as he did so, Robbie could see it. The rolled brochure had the width to distribute the weight more evenly and it was sturdier than the stick. He met James's gaze and they both turned to Jack.

Jack picked up the tube, unrolled it experimentally. He rolled it back up, a little tighter this time, and held it out. "Tape, please."

They stood the tube up on its edge and balanced the edge of the box on top. It was a little wobbly, but Jack was ecstatic. You could see now that all you had to do was tie a string around the tube, pull the string, and the box would fall down. 

"Let's get the ball!" Jack cried.

"What? No, laddie, we need string. Tie the string around the stick and pull." Robbie gave James a worried glance. Couldn't the boy see it?

James was almost smiling. "You're a clever one, Jack."

Robbie wanted this done. He rubbed the back of his neck, wearily. "What am I not seeing, Hathaway?"

"It's not enough to bait the trap, is it? You have to attract the attention of the leprechaun, right, Jack?" 

"Yes, sir." Jack said politely. The child set the box on the floor, positioned the tube, and backed away on his knees. "You said they get distracted by things that roll, right? So, I may not be a good inventor, but I can bowl, so if I roll the ball from over here--" He demonstrated his idea by rolling the ball into the back of the box and knocking it down. "See, the leprechaun will chase the ball and follow it into the box and see the bait and when the box falls on him, he won't be mad because we left him ice cream. Mum says if you want to make a friend, you give him what he likes." He sat back on his heels and regarded them seriously for a moment. "What do you think? Will he like it?"

"I'm sure he'll think it's very--cool." James set up the trap again, taking out the ball and handing it to Jack. "You'll have to keep a close eye on it, though, to catch him."

"Well done, pet." Robbie went into the kitchen to serve the ice cream.

"Don't forget to leave a bit for the leprechaun," James reminded him, as he came into the kitchen. "Just a bit."

"Monty will get to it in the middle of the night. We'll catch a cat, not a leprechaun."

"Cats know better than to mess with a leprechaun's ice cream. Do you have any of the sprinkles Ieftover from the cookies?"

"Got something better." Robbie reached to the back of the cupboard and brought out a box of cereal.

"Are you joking? 'Lucky Charms'? Must have cost a fortune."

"It's got a leprechaun on the box. Thought we could use it for inspiration."

"That drawing looks nothing like a leprechaun."

"How would you know? Did Yeats paint a picture?"

"Not like that one, no. Many people in Ireland find the stereotype somewhat offensive." James frowned. He sprinkled colored marshmallow bits and cereal onto the servings of ice cream. "Not all leprechauns can be lumped into the same box."

Robbie raised his eyebrows. Sounded like there was more to be said, but he didn't have a chance to ask: James had already whisked the bowls out to the living room. Jack was already in his pajamas. Robbie settled his grandson beside him and turned on the telly. "Looked up films about leprechauns, know what I found, James?"

"Yeah." James took a spot on the other side of Robbie. "Not watching an American horror series. We're going to watch one of your grandpa's favorite American actors in a classic. _The Quiet Man_."

"He'll be bored." Lewis said, tucking a blanket around the lad as he sat on the couch with his ice cream.

"No, I won't, grandpa. I like regular movies. Besides, I'm watching my leprechaun trap." He yawned. "I have to be ready to catch him. I know just what to wish for."

Fifteen minutes after he finished his ice cream, the lad was fast asleep. Robbie picked him up and got him settled in his bedroom. 

James had his head against the back of the couch. He cast a sidelong glance. "Not reminding him to clean his teeth after dessert." He raised a long finger and made an imaginary mark in the air in front of him.

"Give it a rest, man. Go ahead and," he waved at the television set, "play it from where we left off." He dropped to the couch next to James.

"Sure you don't want to watch something else?"

"No." Robbie smiled to himself. Now, how could James have known that it was something of a tradition, watching this with Val on St. Patrick's Day? Film like this wouldn't be made now--the idea of dragging a woman across the countryside for a dowry was downright medieval. But John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara made the romance work. Longing to be together; convention, tradition, and bloody stubborn pride keeping them apart. 

Not that he knew a damn thing about unrequited love or wanting someone you saw every day or any of that. Someone you shouldn't have. He realized that he was leaning heavily against James, pushing him into a corner of the couch, and he straightened, which only served to bring him closer to the man. Not that there was anything wrong with that, really. Except he wished for more.

At that moment, the leprechaun trap dropped--

\--James turned toward him, cupped his face between his palms in one smooth motion, and--"Robbie," he whispered, as he reverently kissed him.

It was exactly what Robbie longed for: a sweet, chaste kiss. A promise to go slow.

A wish granted.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies--unbeta'd and a day late. Title inspired by Laurence Fox's comment on 'Mission Survive' that he was hallucinating 'little people' while ill.


End file.
